


Don't Fret Precious

by IntoTheFold



Category: Original Work
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol, Daddy Issues, Dubious Consent, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Parent-Child Relationship, Parent/Child Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-25 13:35:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16661975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IntoTheFold/pseuds/IntoTheFold
Summary: When an overbearing, abusive father finds out his eldest daughter has slept with their married neighbor, a normal night of doing laundry becomes nothing but.Non-graphic excerpt from a potential story idea written a while back.  Daddy issues abound; prepare your feels.





	Don't Fret Precious

**Author's Note:**

> I am not neglecting my other stories, I promise! This was written months ago and I was going through old drabble and decided to post it. It is from a series of merged story ideas that I may/may not elaborate on at some point.

Violet threw the load into the washer, wincing at the sharp clang of metal as she slammed the door with more force than she had intended.  She winced again at the twinge in her wrist, reaching down to rub the tender flesh where her father had grabbed her. She dearly hoped it wouldn't bruise, but then again, what did it matter?  It wasn't like she had anywhere to go or see. She certainly would not be spending any time at the Benoit household ever again.

She felt guilty, she truly did, at what this meant for Melanie.  Their father had given them an ultimatum, a stern reminder that they were not to go anywhere near Alan, Ashleigh, or their family.  It was all Violet's fault. Had she not been so brash, so careless; had she not allowed misguided emotion to get the better of her and think that she was actually capable of feeling something and having something felt for her in return.  She was a fool to think Alan had any intention of standing up for what they had, and even more of an idiot to think he ever had any intention of leaving his family for her. Her home was already a wreck; she shouldn't' t have wanted to wreck someone else's.  Furthermore, she cost her beloved little sister a best friend in the process. Lord knows they both could use more friendship in their lives.

The cool air of the basement blew over Violet's skin, and in her shudder she realized the prickling hairs at the back of her neck were not simply due to the cold.  She was not alone. She knew who stood behind her and was, quite frankly, terrified of turning around and finding the violent, presumably drunk man waiting to continue his demonstration of his displeasure.  Tears already began brimming in her eyes, but she forced them back. She would not let him see his affect on her.

Violet turned to face Anthony, surprised at how quickly her father’s composed appearance had vanished.  His hair was disheveled, as though running his hand through it multiple times had not calmed his nerves.  The top two buttons on his dress shirt were undone, obvious pools of sweat forming through the untucked fabric as the alcohol flowed through his veins.  In the dim light she could make out how glassy his eyes actually were, a further sign he had hit the bottle hard. To anyone else he might have looked incapable of beating his eldest daughter in this shoddy state, but Violet knew better.  He was much stronger than her, and with the alcohol stoking his inhibitions and drowning any compassion he may have had left, he was truly dangerous.

Anthony raised a shaking finger to point at her chest, taking a stumbling step forward as he did so.  "You," he spat, wiping his mouth with a shirt sleeve, "You ungrateful slutty cunt."

Violet gulped slightly.  Insults were nothing new; in fact, she couldn't remember a day in the past few years when he didn't have at least one nasty thing to say, but hearing such vulgar language escape him only made his rage that much more apparent.  She would be lucky if words were the only punches he threw.

"After everything I have done for you," Anthony continued, shuffling towards her on unsteady feet.  "I have provided you with food, shelter, clothing- a home, Violet! I provided you with a home! And how do you repay me?  By making a fool of me and everyone in this household because you couldn't keep your fucking legs shut!"

He was so much closer now.  Violet backed into the washing machine, hands instinctively clutching at the smooth metal in an effort to find something with which to steady herself.  She could smell the whiskey on him, pouring from his mouth as he yelled and radiating off of his clothes where it mixed with sweat. It was nauseating, but Violet continued to will the tears from her eyes as she picked  a stained spot on the tile to stare at during Anthony's tirade. Anything to distract her from being there.

"What I don't understand, is why him, huh?  You've never shown preferences like this before.  Why not someone closer to your own age? Christ, he's got to be as old as I am Violet!"

The tears were returning, and Violet's eyes shone even in the low light of the laundry room.  She wasn't going to tell him the real reason; she wasn't going to confess how in some twisted way Alan's affections had satisfied both her romantic needs and the need for a supportive father figure that she lacked and so desperately craved.  He wouldn't understand, especially with his recent assertions that he had done all he could for her.

She bit her lip as Anthony closed the distance between them, placing one hand on the washer on either side of her and leaning in close to her ear.  "Or is that it?" he whispered huskily, and Violet found herself taken aback at the sudden change in tone. "Not getting what you want from your dear old Dad at home, so you get it from another.  Mm, you've always been nothing if not resourceful."

Unsure of what was happening, Violet furrowed her brow when Anthony pressed in close and wrapped his arms around her.  “My precious darling girl,” he murmured into her neck, and she allowed herself, for the first time all evening, to relax.  His anger seemed to have dissipated, replaced with what she did not know but if it meant less bruises for her she would take it.  Gingerly she raised her arms to return the embrace.

They stood there for quite some time, arms around each other and unmoving.  Violet was dimly aware of the escaped tears overflowing onto Anthony's shirt collar, though he did not seem to notice.  This was what she needed. This was the kind of fatherly attention Violet craved. No arguing, no hitting, just raw affection.  In that moment Violet knew she forgave him for everything; after all she had to, right? He was her father. He had been a perfectly good father for nearly two decades, and she couldn't hate him because Mom died.  He was hurting, too, and still couldn't cope. It was only human.

"I love you, Dad," she whispered, hoping to herself that the words would make him smile even as she couldn't see his face buried into her neck.  Almost immediately, however, she realized what an egregious mistake she had made.

Anthony let out what Violet could only characterize as a single small sob, and just as she began to allow herself to smile he gripped the back of her shirt.  The breaths on her neck became pants as he nuzzled into her, lips grazing over her skin. A perplexed Violet suddenly became gripped with fear when his hands began running over her back, pulling her closer.  It dawned on her, given their previous conversation and her tryst with Alan, what Anthony must be thinking. The realization he not only thought that, but was in his mind reciprocating, pooled in her belly as a lump of dread.  If she stopped him now, he would certainly become enraged and probably accuse her of leading him on. If she didn't...

Violet's hips bucked into the washing machine as she felt something she refused to acknowledge while Anthony nipped her neck.  "S-stop." Anthony paused to pull back and look down at her. She could not stop herself from trembling, eyes darting around the room looking for the nearest means of escape.  The only entryway was the single door through which they had both entered, the path to which Anthony's frame now blocked. To further complicate things, as Violet predicted, he looked less than pleased.

"Stop?  You're really telling me now to stop?  You're the one who said this is what you wanted!"

"No, I-I...that's not what I meant, please, just-"

Anthony ran his thumb over her lips parted in protest, the other hand stroking her bangs from her face.  He looked down at her with an adoration seldom seen, undercut with a lust she wished she could forget. He was not going to stop.  She could yell for Melanie, who probably wouldn't even hear her sleeping two stories above, but did she really want to drag her poor sister into this mess?  The violence was one thing, but this- this was too much. She couldn't let Melanie anywhere near this.

"You look so much like your mother," Anthony rasped, his voice shaking slightly.  Violet looked up at his half-lidded eyes as he licked his lips, allowing the tears to flow freely as he leaned in and pressed them to hers.  Over and over she told herself she should be stopping this, that she should fight back even knowing the certain pain it meant. She just couldn't do it.  She was too tired, too broken after the revelations with Alan earlier in the day. Any protest would be met with physical force, and she just couldn't do it anymore.  She could only hope in the morning Anthony would write this off as a drunken mistake, a miscommunication, and she would keep hoping even as he trailed kisses down her jawline and pushed back the flannel overshirt from her bare shoulders.

She didn't want this, but maybe she deserved it.

  
  


Eyes wide open, Violet stared at the red digits on the alarm clock in front of her.  Seven fifty-eight. She had overslept. That meant Anthony would have had to get Melanie ready for school, and given the amount of alcohol raging through him the previous night it would have been no easy task with a hangover that large.  She bit her lip and closed her eyes with a sigh, debating how to approach the day. She could always say she was sick; and why shouldn't she be, she thought as memories of the previous night came flooding back with uncomfortable clarity.  She could still feel the cold metal of the washing machine beneath her white-knuckled grip as Anthony drove into her again and again, all the while telling her how much she should appreciate the attention. It was in fact enough to make her want to vomit, and she felt the bile and panic rising before she managed to take a few deep breaths and talk herself down.  There was no use getting worked up over it; it happened, plain and simple. The trick was to keep it from happening again.

Reluctantly Violet rolled out of bed, pausing to throw on a long sleeved shirt over her pajama bottoms before trudging into the hallway.  There was no need to show more skin than necessary, just in case. The thought alone made the sickness return, and she found herself humming 99 Bottles of Beer as a distraction.  It worked pretty well, and by the time she reached the bottom of the stairs she was only four bottles in. This would last a good while.

It would have, except for an incredibly hung over Anthony sitting at the kitchen table with the extra strength painkillers out next to a newspaper he couldn't quite seem to focus on enough to read.  He looked up at his humming daughter as she pulled out a bowl and some milk, pausing to decide which of the cereal options before her seemed most appetizing. It only took one and a half bottles for him to sigh in exasperation.

"Will you knock that shit off?  I can barely hear myself think!"

Violet blinked, cereal box halfway out of the pantry, and finished the bar she was humming before returning the kitchen to silence.  The clink of the cereal pieces seemed impossibly loud then, and Anthony just put his face in his hands.

"Don't test me this morning, Violet.  Not any more than you already have."

She blinked again, cereal box halfway back into the pantry.  She finished stowing it away and closed the door slowly. "What have I done?  I only got up five minutes ago."

Anthony turned to face her abruptly, the chair legs scraping on the tile floor, and pointed with the same shaky hand he had the night before.  "See? That. That is exactly the kind of sass I'm talking about that I am not equipped to deal with this morning. You were supposed to get Melanie off to school."

Violet crunched a spoonful of cereal thoughtfully, trying to determine the best way to approach the situation.  All possibilities seemed to end in failure in her mind, so she decided to try and be delicate but honest. "Yeah, well, I had a...rough night last night."

A long pause of silence filled the room.  Anthony stared at her as she ate her breakfast standing at the kitchen island and refused to meet his gaze.  He finally sighed after several moments, pushing his glasses up the brim of his nose, and turned back to the table.  "Come sit while you eat," he said flatly.

Violet shook her head.  "Fine right here. Almost done anyway."

"That wasn't a request."

There it was.  That phrase was a favorite of his when Violet tried to avoid something he wanted her to do.  It usually meant, when met with further resistance, that a good few slaps to the face were in order.  She was still too tired.

Trying not to make the situation worse, Violet brought her bowl over to the table and moved to sit at the opposite end from Anthony.  He rolled his eyes and kicked out the chair across from him before gesturing to it; Violet bit her lip but took the chair and resumed munching on the last few bites she had left.  She hoped when she finished he would let her go, but his intense stare said otherwise.

"Are you watching me eat?" she said finally, weirded out by the way he continued to make eye contact while he rested his chin on clasped hands propped up by his elbows.

"I had to get Melanie to school," he said finally, ignoring the question.

"I...I know.  I assumed that."

"You know I don't get up that early.  She missed the bus and as a result I had to drive her," Anthony continued, the terseness in his voice not unnoticeable.

"I...look, I'm sorry, okay?  Like I said, rough-"

"'Rough night,'" he spat.  "Rough night for you, of course!  Poor little whore gets caught and has to deal with the consequences.  What about me? I've got a hangover the size of Texas so bad I called out sick!"

"Drinking that much was your choice!"

Anthony all but growled, eyes narrowing.  "It was your choice to fuck Alan."

"And it was your choice to fuck your daughter."

Anthony's jaw dropped, eyes wide.  Violet looked at him firmly, the tears welling in her eyes already spilling onto her shirt.  There, she had said it. The elephant in the room could no longer be overlooked. One way or another she was going to make him admit to what he'd done and at least face some sort of emotional consequence because of it.

"At least now you're good for something."

This time it was Violet's jaw that dropped; Anthony's next words, thoroughly unexpected, caused her drifting eyes to snap back to him.  There was no remorse in his face, only a twisted sick satisfaction that he was still in control. His sneer sent chills down her spine, and as he got up to leave she felt waves of guilt wash over her.  After all, she had let it happen. She may have been powerless to stop it, but she didn't even really try. It was just as much on her.

Anthony exited the kitchen whistling while Violet, sobbing, felt nothing but hollow.


End file.
